


Madripoor

by MsMockingbird



Series: The Mockingverse [7]
Category: Avengers (Comics), Hawkeye (Comics), Mockingbird - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-16 04:41:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3474827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsMockingbird/pseuds/MsMockingbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawkeye and Mockingbird cannot catch a break when it comes to wedding anniversaries: on their first, Bobbi was in a coma. </p><p>On their second, they're on the auction block on the island of Madripoor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Ladies and gentlemen, please settle down."

The auctioneer was a small dark-haired man of indeterminate genetics. A smooth smile could not quite hide his thin and bloodless lips. His black suit was impeccable and visibly expensive.

"The Ruler of Madripoor would like to thank all of you for coming on such short and mysterious notice. Official identifications and proxies have been verified." He stopped and looked around the room, set up theatre-in-the-round style. 

A dozen tiers of seats rose up three floors, topped by ranks of enclosed theatre boxes with mirrored windows. Peppered through the crowd were people in opulent clothing, colorful uniforms or full face-masked costumes. Each individual was surrounded by thugs with expensive weapons, making up the bulk of the bodies.

The tension in the air was palpable as half of the occupants of the room would have cheerfully slit the throats of the other half; Madripoor's Enforcers and the entire line up of Harriers were spaced conspicuously at each aisle and doorway.

"We have two items for viewing but they are being sold as a matched set only. We are expecting the bidding to go very high: it is for that reason we have arranged this pre-auction look-see. Please direct your attention to the doorway behind me."

The double doors slide up and out of the way to reveal blank darkness. A ten squad of troops in full combat gear including helmets and live firearms marched out and took up two flanking lines. The sounds of a scuffle emerged from the black; the tension in the room jumped several degrees. 

Two figures were dragged into the light: a man and a woman, both wearing nothing but their underwear, hoods covering their faces and bound in a complex set of chains. Ankle to waist to throat and hands chained together and attached to the waist for both of them. Two very large men had hold of each them by the upper arms, a third was pulling on a chain leash and a fourth trailed with a gun trained on their backs.

They were being treated like dangerous animals and they were fighting like lions. Even as she was pulled into the light, the woman used her captors as anchors, leaping up to blindly kick the man with her leash in the back of the head with both feet. He went down with a strangled cry. The mostly-naked man dug in his heels and shoved to one side in a single powerful motion, upsetting his handlers enough that for a heart-stopping second he was actually free.

Then they were both buried under heaving bodies. Fists rose and fell a few times; the melee resolved itself the only way it could, given their heavy bonds. Coughing, blood running from under the hoods the two captives were propped up next to the auctioneer in the very centre of the room. Their guards split off to ring them, all facing inwards, all watching intently. The leader stepped in close to hiss an obvious threat at both captives. They each stilled: not in fear or agreement but with a sense of 'waiting'. Like hunters in a blind.

Even without the solid evidence of their physical prowess, they would have been an impressive pair: the woman was tall and well-endowed under her white bra and shorts. Her body was lean and packed with flat muscle without looking masculine.

The man had the classic 'V' of the professional athlete, standing a little taller than the woman. His torso and legs were ripped and sleekly powerful; his arms and chest were heavy with muscles like organic steel.  
.  
Murmurs rose from the crowd, confusion edging to interest and slowly to something like recognition.

With a master's timing, the auctioneer stepped up and gripped the top of the hoods.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Ruler of Madripoor is pleased to offer to you for purchase..."

He ripped the hoods off.

"The Avengers, Hawkeye and Mockingbird!"

The roar that went up was so loud it caused a physical pressure wave that the captives flinched against for a moment.

Mockingbird, blood drying on her chin from a split lip turned her head and mouthed at Hawkeye: _fuck me_.

He gave her a wry grin through his own blood and mouthed back: _I wish_.

The auctioneer, with a glance at the largest private box, held up his hands for silence. It was a long time coming but eventually the crowd settled into a wary, calculating mutter.

"I believe you all understand now why we are offering you some extra time to secure proper funding...but not a great deal of time. Obvious security constraints are in place but I also think everyone understands the potential risks of keeping this prize stationary for too long."

"So, Cap's shield rammed up your collective ass is a potential risk now?" Mockingbird said loudly. "Hey, I got a Madripoor weather prediction for you all: chance of Hulk smashing is one hundred percent."

The head goon stepped forward and punched her in the stomach. She doubled over with a loud _oof_. Hawkeye smiled calmly at the man, then laughed out loud when Mockingbird turned her motion into a headbutt to the guy's stomach. After a brief flurry of thugs, she was settled back next to her husband, one cheek purpling.

The crowd was getting agitated as numbers in the high seven figures were being muttered sotto voice back and forth. Hawkeye turned his head as far as it could go in each direction. He visibly took stock of the crowd then looked at his wife.

"Little bird. C'mere." He raised his bound hands as far as he could, about six inches from his waist. She limboed in under his arm before anyone could stop her to press her bare cheek against his bare chest. Her eyes closed and she nestled in with a smile of contentment. He settled his arms around her and closed his own eyes with a matching smile. Other than the chains, they might have been standing peacefully in their own home.

The entire room full of rich, powerful, dangerous criminals correctly interpreted the simple action as 'Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.'

Wordless rage boiled up around the pair, crashed into them and broke like glass on their quiet confidence. A voice they both knew rose up above the tumult: "Five million just to hear them scream."

Mockingbird opened her eyes and blew a kiss at Crossfire over Hawkeye's shoulder. The front rows had actually risen and were pushing forward; their guard detail had switched from watching them to shoving back the crowd. 

Hawkeye looked over at the auctioneer. "Going to wreck your master's profit margin if they tear us limb from limb, buddy."

"Are you two insane?" the small man snapped back, fright and uncertainty fighting for dominance on his face. 

A sharp slap of displaced air from high above preceded a red-haired woman in green scale armor with glittering metal wings landing next to the captive Avengers. 

"Be silent," Dragoness snarled. She raised her hands; they began to glow. The air sizzled, smelling of ozone and smoke.

Her hands burst into flames, flares rising up and then snaking out--against all natural laws--to flick at the surging crowd. Several expensive black suits ignited, then went out again. The Harriers stepped forward in unison, all of the ex-SHIELD agents-turned-mercenary looking grim but rather conspicuously not catching Hawkeye or Mockingbird's eye. Longbow in particular was going out of her way not to be seen by her former instructor. 

Metal tapping on glass reverberated through the room. The auctioneer looked up and nodded. 

"Under the circumstances, we are ending this viewing now. The product will be removed into safe custody. In exactly twenty four hours, the live auction will begin. Once payment is received, the buyer will be solely responsible for the security of their purchase, though we would be willing to provide some limited transportation for a nominal fee. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Remain seated until the items have been safely removed from the room."

"Oh, will you just say 'until we've taken our Avengers-under-glass back to their cage' you little scumbag?" snickered Mockingbird.

Before he could answer, the security team descended on them, four of them holding Hawkeye still while three more extracted Mockingbird un-gently from his grasp. They didn't even try to make them walk this time, the four largest of them taking handholds on arm, neck and hip and hauling.

Dragoness trailed behind, her arcane flames still hissing and popping around her fingers.

*****

Half an hour later, Mockingbird bounced face first off the far wall of their windowless cell and fell heavily to her knees, her nose bleeding profusely. The chief thug advanced towards her a few steps and was stopped by Hawkeye's languid: "One more step and I'll break your neck."

In the brief time the two Avengers had been captive, the entire security force had learned to respect that tone of voice. 

"Control your bitch then," the man snarled at him.

Hawkeye laughed from the corner where he'd been thrown seconds before. "If I could control her I wouldn't have married her."

"Enough." The new voice was calm and commanding; it belonged to the grey haired 'Inspector Dressard' who'd pulled them off their commercial flight after it was forced to land in Madripoor due to 'mechanical' issues.

_("You are unarmed and in an enclosed space, M'sieu, Madame."_

_"So it'll take us thirty seconds rather than fifteen to put you all down, sport."_

_"And this plane--full of innocent people who cannot defend themselves--will still be here in Madripoor. And perhaps it will crash on take-off, killing all aboard?")_

Dressard sauntered into the cell carrying a fluffy white towel which he threw to Mockingbird. She held it to her nose, the fabric going swiftly crimson.

"Danks," she muttered. "Gaw any ice? S'gunna swell. Woon be purty for m'new owners." 

"Fetch the lady an ice pack," Dressard ordered the goon, who complied with bad humor. He placed the pack down at the furthest edge of the cell from where Mockingbird crouched, forcing her to awkwardly shuffle over to it, hampered by her chains. 

Dressard gave his man a dry look and stepped back from the line that demarcated the energy field blocking the door of the cell. With an evil hum a reddish haze flowed out from the walls, leaving the air smelling faintly of metal. 

"A fascinating performance from you both. My master was tolerably amused."

Hawkeye had taken the cloth from Mockingbird and gently wiped away the last of the blood, then wrapped the ice pack in the towel and held it to her face after she lay down on their single bench.

"Give us some props and we'll put on a real show," the Avenger said cheerfully. "Longbow's got one of my old bows on her and someone out there can find some sticks for Mock, I'm sure."

Mockingbird snorted through the towel.

Dressard had pulled up an old metal chair; now he leaned back and smiled. "I will be sure to suggest that at exactly the moment I have grown tired of living."

"Other than pulling us off that plane in our underwear, you've been half decent. I'd shoot to maim, I swear."

The other man flicked imaginary dirt from his pant leg and gave Hawkeye a pained smile. "Yes, well, my master was actually contemplating calling the whole thing off and keeping you himself but we did a quick calculation of the amount of extra security it would require to merely restrain you--not accounting for your colleagues no doubt repeated attempts to free you--and it would have bankrupted the state in a little under six months."

"I've never thought of myself as high maintenance," Mockingbird mused in muffled voice.

"We did separate calculations for each of you as well," Dressard replied. That got their full attention, Mockingbird sitting up and pulling off the towel. Dressard blinked and shuffled his chair back a little from the sheer cold menace flowing from the couple.

"In that case, the number dropped to four months," Dressard continued. He smiled at them nervously. "It was considered that separating you would have a motivating affect."

The Bartons exchanged sideways looks. "Nice not to be underestimated for once," Clint muttered.

"Yeah, but I'd prefer they were incompetent," Bobbi muttered back. 

"Thank you, I will convey those compliments to my master."

They both shook their heads and then Mockingbird lay down on the bench and returned the ice pack to her face. Hawkeye sat down on the floor next to her, looking cramped and awkward. "So, we wait then. Got'cha."

Dressard stared at them both for a long time in silence. Haawkeye leaned back so his head was right next to Mockingbird's; she scooted a little closer and kissed him on the ear; he turned and smiled at her. They appeared perfectly willing to ignore him. 

His nerve broke first. "You...you have nothing to say?"

Hawkeye closed his eyes before answering. "'Bout what?"

"Your current situation? You have nothing to promise, no threats, no deals?"

The Avengers laughed together. "Sport, we're half-naked prisoners in a windowless cell surrounded by a lethal containment field, chained hand and foot. Oh, and no one's fed us. What'er we going to threaten to do? Cry?" Mockingbird giggled.

"My blood sugar's real low, it might happen," Hawkeye offered faintly.

"That's my big strong alpha male, two days without a cookie and the blubbering starts."

"Yeah, you wait till it's been another day and we haven't had sex. You'll be a sobbing bundle of hormones."

"You haven't been fed?" Dressard snapped.

"Nope. Stop that, not fair," said Hawkeye. Mockingbird had been nibbling lightly on his earlobe while he spoke.

Dressard bellowed for the guard and proceeded to deliver a dry, withering dissertation on exactly why the words 'these are valuable prisoners, treat them well' did not include almost-broken noses and lack of food.

Fifteen minutes later, a selection of gourmet finger food and paper cups of orange juice and water had been laid out on the floor of the cell.

"Before you ask, no cutlery for either of you," Dressard said.

They gave him an identical _yeah, no shit_ look and settled down next to the food, cheerfully feeding each other as though it was some kind of picnic. He stared at them for a long time and then left, muttering something about 'crazy Americans'. 

Hawkeye chewed what turned out to be a battered prawn in a spicy glaze and said out of the corner of his mouth, "In the crowd...what players you see?"

Mockingbird had to drop her head to drink from her cup of water. She kept it down and reeled off a list of names that included a dozen people and groups who hated the Avengers and at least two who wanted to skin the Bartons alive for personal reasons.

He grunted and added several more names to the list. Mockingbird nodded. "In the back row, first section, your four, I did see something that gave me some hope," she offered softly. They knew they were being monitored but there was no point in making it easier for their surveillance team.

"What?" 

"Latverian coat of arms on five henchmen, surrounding one older woman in black. Dr. Doom sent a proxy."

"How is Doom being in this bidding war good?"

"Because he'd only want to use us as political pawns, not rape, torture and kill us slowly over a live satellite feed. Though, yeah, he might still be pissed off we stole his wolves."

"We didn't steal them, they crossed the border on their own."

Doom had used a pack of cybernetically enhanced wolves to chase Mockingbird out of Latveria the year before (1); Mockingbird had made a truce with them and then helped them flee the country. They were now ensconced on a private island Stark had purchased, in Alaska and returning to normal wolf-ish behavior.

Hawkeye grunted again. "At least Crossfire is small change in this crowd."

"Yeah. He'd just shoot us both in the head the instant the payment cleared."

"The fuck we goin' to do, little bird?" Hawkeye sounded deeply deeply worried. Mockingbird could offer no real reassurance.

"What we've been doing since they pulled us off the flight: hope like hell all the Avengers really are as good as everyone thinks we are."

*****  
Captain America was getting angry. Iron Man could tell but he suspected the Homeland Security agent facing them all wasn't catching it. Bruce Banner had already walked out of the Avengers Tower meeting room with a short 'I'll be in the lab, this is making me agitated'. Black Widow had rushed off with a promise to 'be right back' about half an hour ago after getting a text message on a slim black phone that was not Avengers gear; the Falcon went with her, speaking low and fast as he followed. Thor was eating pastries and doing his 'I don't understand you Midgardians' act; he hadn't missed a word or implication, Tony was certain.

Steve Rogers, on the other hand, was about fifteen seconds from totally losing his cool. Tony hunkered down on his side of the table and tried not to grin. He flicked the 'record' command on the internal cameras through his own phone.

This was going to be awesome. 

Homeland was explaining--again--in a patient, calm, condescending voice why exactly the American government couldn't just go into Madripoor and snatch Hawkeye and Mockingbird from the palace. 

"Entering their jurisdiction would be a violation of international law to the highest degree. We have no right--"

Captain America stood up. He was normally so calm, so wry and quiet, it was easy to lose track of his size. He was very tall and very strong and physically capable of doing, oh, any damn thing he wanted.

The agent, a pale thin man with an impressive nose and the manner of a career bureaucrat, broke off with something like a squeak as the super soldier loomed over him.

"They kidnapped two Avengers off a commercial flight. They are trying to auction them off to people who want to torture and kill them. The last time I checked that was called premeditated murder."

To Homeland's credit, he didn't back down. Much.

"They were on the flight under false identities. That was a violation of aerospace law; the authorities had the right to detain--"

Steve's voice dropped to something like a whisper. "They were using those identities because the government insisted. I was there for the conversation about how it would cause a panic on the airplane to have them travel under their real names. They were on a commercial flight because they were coming back from a vacation. They didn't want to use Avengers resources for personal reasons. They were being _responsible_."

Tony felt like clapping.

"Ummm, yes, well that's a decision made above my pay grade..."

"Geez you're a little weasel," Tony said off hand. 

Steve's gaze never wavered from the increasingly uncomfortable lackey's face but he threw a 'pipe down' hand gesture at Tony. 

"Their own government does not appear to care about the well being of former special ops agents with thirty years of classified files and data in their collective history--not to mention a man and women who have both been actively instrumental in _saving the whole world_. Multiple times. Fine. Tell me, one more time, why the Avengers--a private group--cannot go in and retrieve our people ourselves."

Homeland opened his mouth to repeat what he'd said earlier and then closed it again.

Steve nodded. "Smart man. I fundamentally don't care if the Avengers attacking the Ruler of Madripoor's castle is going to make people unhappy. They are trying to sell my friends, both of whom have saved my damn life and the lives of every person in this room, on this planet so many times I've lost count."

He looked over at Tony, who nodded. "I am willing to try and do this with a minimum of fuss but if it comes down to a frontal assault--we're going in. Done. End of story." Steve leaned down, put his hands on the arms of Homeland's chair and just stared at him. 

People always forgot that being a good man didn't make you a nice one.

"My father does not agree but I've always favored such things," rumbled Thor, grinning a little. "It generally works if you bring enough force to bear on the first strike." His hand went down to Mjolnir and his smile broadened. 

"Tony, what about you entering the auction through a proxy?" Captain America turned away from Homeland to give the man a chance to recover himself. He was shaking and Cap wasn't much better. Tony had never, ever seen him this angry before. It was _glorious_.

"No dice. They had my number, not sure how, but they kicked JARVIS out of the process before he even got to the verification. Got this very dry email about being an 'undesirable candidate'. And, um, looking at that list Widow had? There are at least four groups there that triple my net worth if I liquidated all of Stark Industries. Which I'd do, if I had to but--"

The Widow herself appeared at the door way, still trailing Sam Wilson. "They've added three more of that stripe since then, including two whole nations. I just had words with an...old friend who lives in Madripoor."

They all knew damn well that 'old friend' would be one of the ex-SHIELD Harriers. 

"Apparently, they had a 'pre-auction surprise viewing' and Clint and Bobbi...were Clint and Bobbi."

"Oh, god." Captain America sat down abruptly. "Are they intact?"

"Barely." She described the show they had put on. Despite it all, the five Avengers shared smiles: still fighting, still alive. 

Homeland loosened his tie and looked like he'd just realized he was in a room with people who fought monsters and gods for a living.

"Back to the new bidders: nations?" Tony queried.

"Abin Dhai, in the Middle East. The ruling Sheik has a thing for Mockingbird, she was there on a humanitarian aid mission back when she was still SHIELD and saved his life; he decided she was 'his destined bride'. He sent a kidnap squad after her a few months later. She delivered them back to him--mostly--with a warning and he's been quiet."

"Oh, that would be...bad. Very bad. Imagine the headlines after Bobbi ripped off his di--"

"Enough, Tony." No one wanted to push Steve today; Iron Man subsided. "What's the other nation?"

"Latveria."

"Oh. This is getting better and better each passing instant," Steve sat back in his chair and shook his head.

"Von Doom would treat them well, at least," offered Homeland tentatively. "He has no grudge against the Avengers."

"He might. We're not friendly," Black Widow ground out. They were all thinking about Mockingbird's trek last year and a few incidents since then.

"The political ramifications of Latveria holding two American citizens captive without accusing them of a crime would be extreme--"

Captain America snapped. "We wouldn't need to worry about it if the government hadn't thrown them. Under. A. Goddamn. Bus." Steve actually raised his voice. And swore. And used a modern idiom. It was like watching Banner turn into the Hulk, if the Hulk was a six two blue eyed blond mom-and-apple-pie legend.

Homeland left the room to 'go check something' and never came back. 

Which was fine with them: not being lectured about international law gave them time to spitball more ideas.

"Proxy through Wakanda?" Tony proposed.

"T'Challa called us; his tribal council authorized going into the Vibranium stores for the money. He'd already attempted to get in on the auction; he got bounced out too." Widow shook her head. 

Tony nodded. "Jarvis thinks they're just rejecting anyone they didn't approach in the first place."

"I approve of a frontal assault. Smash the walls down and take our archer and valkyrie back," Thor slammed his fist on the table, which dented.

"That's where I'm leaning. God knows what those animals are doing to them--"

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, looking younger than usual in his worry.

"They were both in fine physical shape when my contact saw them. Some bruises and cuts but they're being kept in the same cell, not being tortured. From the sounds of it, they're being treated with healthy respect--which does mean they're not going to be able to escape on their own." 

"They're bunking them together? Heh, wanna bet a sex tape gets out in the next few days?"

"Tony. Shut Up." Captain America was so agitated he didn't seen to register how rude he sounded. Sam threw a worried look at Tony, who shrugged with an air of: _He's allowed to be human, sometimes._

Steve got to his feet in a convulsive gesture and started to pace. "I hate this. I hate this kind of thing, I hated it during the war and I hate it now. Nothing we do is going to be right, it's all going to be risky and if we screw up Clint and Bobbi are going to die screaming." His eyes were shining a little and he walked across the room to look out the window, turning his back to the table.

For once, Tony had no desire to snark at Steve. Captain America very seldom, if ever, showed this kind of vulnerability or emotion to anyone. Stark's throat got tight: nobody ever really trusted him before the Avengers brawled their way into his life. Not his dad, not Obadiah, not even Pepper. He'd been fundamentally untrustworthy, of course, but still...

Now he had extraordinary friends he'd be willing to give up everything for and knew they'd do the same for him. It was terrifying and wonderful and humbling and awesome because he got to hang with super heroes and Norse Gods and hot killer spy women. Not to mention the greatest living marksman, a fighter chick who could give Captain America a run for his money and the only person he'd ever met who didn't look at him like he was a freak when he started talking about science. 

Oh, and they saved the world a bunch.

That sleek black phone buzzed gently and Black Widow snapped the cover open, read something and just sat there blinking at it. Then she called Steve over and shoved it at him, Sam reading over her shoulder. Same reaction, then he shoved it at Tony and Thor. Iron Man read it and whistled sharply.

"Seriously? Can we trust this?"

"Can we afford not to?" Steve said. "We'd have to leave now to get there in time. What do you say?"

"Please, capsicle, what do you think? Avengers, Assemble."

*****  
Hawkeye and Mockingbird had settled into a sort of comfortable sleeping position: him on his back, her tucked up against his side, molded around his planes and curves. She pressed her head into his shoulder and blew out a breath against his neck. 

Someone--probably Dressard--dimmed the lights. Hawkeye heard Mockingbird laugh a little, with a catch in her voice. 

"What, little bird?" he whispered.

"Oh, I was just thinking about the night of the storm," she whispered back.

Tony had provided the name and address of a very exclusive resort in New Zealand; on a peninsula with open ocean on one side and a broad enclosed bay on the other, each luxury cabin was located on an acre of fenced land, with a private beach. Staff delivered food and did any necessary cleaning every few days. Otherwise, it was perfect solitude. They even guaranteed no paparazzi.

Checking in, Mockingbird had noted seven A-list movie stars, two heads of state and one international crime lord in the same room.

They'd all be conspicuously ignoring the Avengers, which put Hawkeye on the floor of the living room when she'd told him.

There followed two glorious weeks of sparring on the veranda in their swimsuits, running on the beach and making love like rabbits on every possible surface and some that shouldn't have been possible.

They made sand castles that fell down, sunbathed nude and played strip water balloon fights. Hawkeye spear fished for dinner, cooking it over a bonfire on the beach. In the evenings Bobbi read trashy novels aloud while Clint lay with his head in her lap or they made popcorn and watched movies, making out like teenagers.

Once they had been snorkeling in the ocean when the silent shape of a great white shark had slipped up from the depths to circle them. 

They had both turned with the huge female, in respect and awe, and she seemed to acknowledge them as fellow hunters before turning and swimming away.

One night a storm rolled over them and settled far out to sea, lightening and thunder cracking in the air. 

"How'd Thor find out where we were?" Hawkeye joked as he went through the cabin turning off the lights. They both loved lightening storms.

With a ripping noise, the clouds burst and rain pelted down like liquid rocks. Bobbi got a wild look in her eye; Clint froze and waited to see what she was about to do. 

Running to the linen closet, she snatched a spare sheet and sprinted out into the rain. Laughing wildly, instantly drenched, she flung the sheet open onto the veranda and ripped off her tank top and shorts. Hawkeye came to the door and she hurled the sodden fabric at him.

"Come on! Before it stops!" Mockingbird danced naked in the downpour, her golden hair sleek against the shape of her skull, her full breasts bouncing just out of time with her motions. He dropped her clothes on top of his trunks and advanced.

What followed was an hour of his life he thought he would remember forever, hold onto during dark times.

The rain was not cold but distinctly cooler than her body. Cooler than her slippery skin; cooler than her laughing mouth and ready tongue. Cold as ice compared to the slick wet heat that drew him into something like a drugged haze of pure sensation.

When the storm died away, grumbling like a cranky child fading into sleep, he swam up out of his trance long enough to memorize the lines of her face in the gentle spill of light from the cabin. She was kneeling over him, reaching into the air as she arched back and back. He propped himself up on his elbows, soaked fabric bunching and squeaking against his skin. 

Her head touched the ground near his feet and he thought he was going to pass out from the love and pleasure and pain that seared through him. Hawkeye's whole body went stiff and then jerked convulsively. The aftermath of his orgasm left him shaking like he had malaria.

Mockingbird laughed at him, low and deep, the sound blending with the last of the retreating thunder. 

Sitting up he snatched her into his arms, a drowning man reaching for a rope. Her yelp of surprise turned into a moan as he turned and pinned her underneath him. One hand slide down between them as the other pillowed her head from the hard ground. Still hard and deep inside her, his fingers rubbed fast and firm in the rhythm he knew better than his own heartbeat.

She screamed as the lightening flashed one more time, burning the image of her pleasure into his brain. 

Back in their cell, Hawkeye gulped and squirmed uncomfortably as the memories had an unfortunate physical affect on him.

"Sorry," she whispered. "Didn't mean to torture you. I was just thinking...if this is it, if we don't make it out...I really don't mind having that night as the last thing I think about."

He grabbed at her hands, gripping her fingers fiercely. "It's not...this is not it. Don't talk like that." He bent his head and nuzzled her temple. "But yeah, I could go out on that memory. Closest thing to heaven I'm ever going to see."

"Hell wouldn't take us, Hawkeye. We'd be running the place inside a week," Mockingbird tried to speak lightly but the hitch in her voice was audible. 

He gathered her in as best he could, hating the chains because he could not hold her so tightly it felt like they were one person, could not draw on her strength and courage and fire while pretending he was the one comforting her. Which she knew and had never ever called him on; he suspected she thought the same way about him.

Eventually they both fell into a fitful sleep. Clint dreamed of a beach and a rain storm and a laughing woman spinning always just out of his reach.

At some point they were pulled out of the cell and frogmarched--groggy from lack of sleep and aching from the hard floor--through several levels of the palace to what was clearly a guest suite. A luxurious suite, with a soft king sized bed and a huge bathroom. 

And all the outside windows and doors boarded up with metal sheets that crackled faintly and smelled of ozone.

As they stood there gaping, Dressard eeled into the room behind them and nodded. "Please hold out your hands." With a few clicks of a key, he detached the chains holding their hands to their waists, then removed the collars. 

There was a brief moment when they both clearly considered jumping him. He smiled and nodded behind them. The open doorway framed all the Harriers, Dragoness and five armed guards. 

"There are multiple cameras in every room. The main door will never be closed and the electrical charge on the window covers would at best knock you unconscious. As well, we can flood this room with gas at any time. The auction is to begin in approximately fourteen hours; my master is persuaded there is no need to treat you as animals for that whole length of time. The wrist and ankles manacles will remain on. But until such time as you are no longer in my charge...you can at least sleep on a bed."

"Working your way up to flesh wound now," said Clint. 

"If you could fix it for me to have a bath, I'll plump for 'near miss'" offered Bobbi.

"You may bathe if you wish, Madame, but it will be on camera of course."

"Darn." She and Hawkeye exchanged a look. "Digital is forever."

"I really don't want to have to track down everyone who downloads pictures of you naked and kill them. It'll be hard to conceal. Sleep it is then."

"Aw, c'mon Morse. Take a bath," chortled Battleaxe from the door way. 

In one smooth beautiful motion, Clint scooped his collar from Dressard and skimmed it sidearm at the ex-SHIELD agent. The double thunk as it hit him between the eyes and knocked him unconscious to the ground made Bobbi laugh like a little girl. 

Hardcase looked from his fallen soldier to his former colleague. "Nice shot. You'd think the guy would have some sense of self preservation, but no. Longbow, drag him down to medical."

The underlying message of that was 'get that bow out of Hawkeye's reach'.

Mockingbird held out her hands to Dressard. "Thank you for a simple kindness." 

He touched her fingers. "My pleasure, Madame. M'Sieu." 

He left and the Bartons shuffled over to the bathroom, blocking the doorway from prying eyes as they each used the facilities. From there, they fell into the wide soft bed and fell asleep for real.

Ten hours later they were awake and lying face to face on the bed, talking in low voices and kissing gently. Their conversation was about the past and the present: old missions, old wounds, the litany of 'things that pissed us off about SHIELD', the shiny happy that was their new life as Avengers. Their dream-like vacation, the new paint job on their custom racing bikes. Steve and Natasha; Thor and Tony and Bruce. Sam. Phil.

Friends lost and found.

Nothing about the future. In a few hours they might not have any.

Dressard appeared in the door way of the bedroom, nodding gravely.

"It is time, madame, m'sieu."

Bobbi sat up, holding her arms across her chest almost self-consciously. "Do we get clothes or anything?" Clint sat up and wrapped her into a protective embrace, drawing her head to his shoulder. She sighed and leaned into him.

Dressard looked pained. "I did request it but I believe the terms of the auction were...hmmm...'as is'."

"Nothing they can trace back to Madripoor," Clint muttered.

Bobbi shivered against him. "I'm cold."

"That will not be a problem much longer, madam," Dressard said sadly. 

All the Harriers, Dragoness and about fifteen guards waited in the living room. They made both the Avengers get down on the floor facedown and replaced the neck chains and hobbles. A sullen and bruised Battleaxe made sure Clint was looking when he hauled Bobbi to her feet, copping a lengthy feel in the process. 

Hawkeye smiled right before Mockingbird latched her teeth onto Battleaxe's right hand and bit down to the bone. In the hugely comical confusion that followed, Hawkeye got within inches of Longbow's weapon. Not that he could have done anything with his hands chained but it was the principle of the thing. 

By the same token, the mild beating they both took was expected and more for show than anything else. Still, they were winded and hurting when they were brought back to the same chamber as before. Two upside down U shaped frames were welded onto the platform side by side: they were each chained spread eagle to one. 

Hawkeye snarled as Battleaxe surreptitiously dragged his wrist restraints higher, putting extra weight on his arms; he did the same thing to Mockingbird when no one was looking. Swiftly, they were both numb from the hands down and hurting everywhere else.

Dressard, after speaking quietly into his phone, nodded at Dragoness.

The mutant warrior swept her mechanical wings through the hair, once, twice and lifted off like a bird to soar into the black rafters above. As though her departure was a signal, the doors at the back of the auditorium opened and the crowd swept in, moving into their seats in an orderly manner.

The auction was about to begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) As detailed in "Mockingbird Vs. The Doomwolves" on this very site.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short one, but I'm not making anyone wait any longer.

Madripoor was a place of contradiction: a haven for the very rich and a prison for the very poor. Lawless, and harshly policed. Where everyone had the freedom to do what they want and the vast majority of the population longed to be free.

In Lowtown, there was a haven for those who spoke out against the 'government' of Madripoor. The Princess Bar had been a hotbed of rebellion for decades and yet remained strangely untouched. There had been no crack downs, no mysterious fires. The patrons came and went as they pleased. It was as though the ruling powers could not even see them...or feared something in the air.

O'Donnell, as the owner and chief bartender was known, wiped his hands on a rag and grimaced at the television. It was showing a closed-circuit feed from the auditorium in the castle. The blond woman--Mockingbird--had just headbutted on of the guardsmen. Then she and Hawkeye did their level best to get the crowd to kill them.

He winced at the way they were hauled off and looked up at the second story office with the mirrored windows. _He_ would be watching too, of course. This was going to get bad. He gestured at Wing to take the bar.

She slide off her stool and came around the counter, speaking to him in soft Malay. "Those Americans are crazy."

"They're heros. Heros generally are," O'Donnell responded, then lumbered his way up the stairs to the office.

A man in a white suit was sitting behind the desk, smoking a cigar, staring into space. The TV was frozen on a shot of Hawkeye and Mockingbird standing in a peaceful embrace. O'Donnell eyed him with wary respect. "If I get down on my knees and beg you not to get involved, will it help?"

The other man looked at him with his one eye. "Too late."

A sleek black phone was lit up on the desk in front of him. O'Donnell walked over and read the text message on the face. 

_Get to Singapore. I can get you in. Patch_

O'Donnell sighed. "Try not to wreck my bar again, all right?"

"No promises, bub," said the man in the eye patch and white suit, his stocky powerful frame clear even through the blocky cut of the jacket. "'Scuse me, gotta talk to some people."

He stood up and left by a small door in the far wall, leading to the warren of rooftops and passages that riddled Lowtown.

On his way out his demeanor changed between one step and the next, from indolent relaxation to the smooth action of a hunting predator. 

O'Donnell poured himself a large slug of whiskey from the private bar in the corner, hands shaking. He hated it when his silent partner showed his true colors.

Then he pulled out his own phone and hit a speed dial. "Tyger? Batten down the hatches. He's on the prowl. Yeah, and they're coming too. Well, we better hope it works, whatever _it_ is. Otherwise there might not be an island to liberate come tomorrow."

*****

The quinjet was secreted near Changi Bay and the Avengers were waiting, impatiently, in a warehouse near the international airport. Black Widow had assured them that this mysterious "Patch" would know where to find them.

Steve was pacing, his shield on his arm, his boots clicking in precise time _stomp stomp stomp heel turn stomp stomp stomp_. The rest of them were sitting at a battered table under a bare light bulb, playing poker inattentively.

A match struck in the darkness between some of the crates and a man in a white suit lit a cigar in the flash of flame, revealing a broad face framed by thick black hair and an eye patch.

Everyone but Natasha leapt to their feet. Black Widow laid down a straight flush and raked in the pot of crumpled ones, then looked over at the new arrival.

"You're late."

Patch shrugged. "I had people to meet."

Steve advanced a few steps, his face intent and slightly surprised. Then his expression cleared.

"Hang on!" He said in an excited voice. "Lo--"

"No. Whatever you're thinking, Captain. No." Patch inturrupted him brutally.

Steve jerked back, his eyes flashing hurt. He looked at Natasha, who shook her head sharply. Then he nodded, sad and tired all of a sudden.

"Right. Sorry. You...look like someone I used to know. Long time ago though. Crazy to think it was you."

The man in white grimaced slightly with an apologetic air and shrugged again. "Yeah, happens all the time." He looked over at Natasha again. "You got an idea of what's happening?"

She shook her head. "Fill us in."

"They moved'em from the dungeon level to a guest suite right before I left the island, which is probably nicer for them but bad for you. That's why I was late. Was trying to refigure some plans. Coulda broken them out the dungeons easy. The guest suites though? Those were high security _before_ they modified'em."

"Why would they do that? Do they know we're coming?" Captain America asked, his brow furrowed. Whatever emotion he'd been feeling earlier was subsumed under the mission now and he was all business.

"Honestly? Dressard -- the boss' right hand man -- likes'em. He wanted'em to be comfortable before selling them off to be skinned alive I guess."

"Frontal assault then?" Iron Man asked, looking at Captain America for confirmation. 

Before the super soldier could say anything, Patch shook his head with a grunt. "You do that, you'll be rescuing corpses. The boss will kill'em just to spite you, I swear."

Sam Wilson settled back into his chair. "I don't know, man. I'd bet on them before any hundred thugs, even in chains."

"Maybe. You wanna risk it?"

The Avengers exchanged a look and the collective decision was "no".

"Do you have a plan? Or are you just facilitating on this one?" Black Widow asked in a careful tone.

"I'm not planning anything for you lot but I can put you in a position to carry out whatever you figure out. I've got resources and I know where to direct you. And--"

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out, reading a text.

"The auction's starting in a second and my...contact...in the palace says I should watch at least the beginning. Vital information, they say."

Iron Man nodded and tapped a few controls on his arm piece. A projection of the feed from the Madripoor palace appeared on the side of one of the boxes.

"God damn it," snarled Bruce when he saw the way Hawkeye and Mockingbird were being restrained. "This makes me really...tense."

"Hold that thought, Bruce," said Iron Man as he turned up the volume...

 

*****

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Welcome! Welcome!" 

The auctioneer was the same as before, wearing a slightly different expensive suit. He was all smiles for the crowd as they shuffled in but every time his gaze passed over the Avengers he look worried and more than a little scared. The security team was taking no chances with them this time; they had doubled the perimeter around the stage and tripled the bodies. In the air above the upper level of the auditorium, the lazy _shick shick_ of Dragoness' wings sounded in counter point to the human murmurs below.

The seats filled in no strict order but within a few minutes a pattern was clearly forming.

Clint shook his head, wincing from the pain in his shoulders. "Hey, Hardcase," he said softly when the Harrier leader was nearby. "What's the date?"

Hardcase told him. Hawkeye looked over at his wife. "Happy second anniversary, little bird."

Mockingbird laughed. "Still better than last year."

Last year on this day, she had been in a coma with a gunshot wound to the head (2).

"It's your wedding anniversary?" Longbow blurted out from behind them.

"Yeah, Greer. Thanks for the present." Hawkeye responded casually, brutally. 

Longbow winced audibly.

"In front and to your right, sport. Those are the heavy hitters," Bobbi muttered under her breath. "Everyone else is rabble, in it for the show and probably planted to drive up the bids."

Hawkeye's piercing gaze picked out the Latverian delegation near the top of the stadium seating in front of him. A man in white thobe in the center of heavily muscled thugs. A small contingent of the new AIM officers, wearing their 'angry bee keeper' uniforms. A regal looking Japanese man in a gray suit surrounded by men who were all missing finger joints. A group of similarly dressed Chinese men and one woman, sitting as far from the Yakuza as possible.

"Is that Wilson Fisk?" he asked Mockingbird incredulously. 

"Yeah, that freaked me out too. And that's Madam Masque over there, talking to Crossfire and Zemo and Viper."

"Jumping Jesus on a pogo stick," Hawkeye muttered. "I'd never have thought any of these people _cared_ about me an'you."

"Not to burst your bubble but I think in a few cases around here it's less about us and more about Cap. And Iron Man. There are a lot of faces in here who would torture us to death just to make Steve suffer. Or blackmail Tony."

Clint turned his head as far as he could to look at his wife. "We can't let that happen, little bird."

"Agreed. We both eat bullets first, if it comes to it."

They shared a single sad, determined look and then fell silent as the auctioneer started speaking. The last few thugs were glowering around the room, settling into their defensive postures.

"If all the signatories and proxies could please attend the tablet computers in front of them. On each screen you will see a login--please enter the id number and code you were sent with your authorization. All bidding will be done silently, via the tablets, minimum increase to each bid is twenty five thousand dollars. The auction will not be dependent on speed, there will be no unseemly huckstering. If anyone needs the auction paused to consult their patrons or acquire a minimal amount of new financing, it will be granted in five to ten minute packets for the first hour or by fifty million dollars, which ever comes first."

A spirit of madness struck both Bartons at the same time. _Fifty million? And they seemed to expect it to go higher?_ The thought alone was ridiculous.

Bobbi laughed gaily and Hawkeye joined her.

"Hey, I'm worth at least sixty million on my own! Look at these abs!" Hawkeye yelled. "And she's a god damn genius, like four degrees! I'd say twenty million for every letter after her name!"

"I'd pay fifty million just to lick your biceps, sport" Mockingbird said, howling.

"Free for you, little bird."

"Shut. Up." The auctioneer hissed at them.

"Nah," they said in unison.

"I'll have you gagged," he snarled.

They started singing "Stand By Me" together. Hawkeye had a surprisingly smooth tenor singing voice, though he was nearly a baritone when he spoke. Mockingbird had trouble staying on pitch, to her husband's visible amusement and her embarrassed verbal admonishment of him between phrases.

Even been slapped and punched didn't stop them, Mockingbird pausing to spit blood in her abusers faces before picking up the verse again.

Ten minutes later, they'd been hastily gagged with scraps of leather and rope. Despite it all, they were both laughing wildly behind the bruises and blood.

*****

"So, they're both insane?" Patch asked Black Widow in a mild tone.

"It's worse. A little. When they're together. You know those old folk tales where the king tries to get rid of his daughter's unsuitable suitor by giving him an impossible task? Don't ever, ever. _EVER_ do that with the two of them."

"Huh. I know the lady--she wasn't calling herself Mockingbird at the time--but she worked for me for a while. Worked for the bar, I mean. Few years back, before she met you guys. Always seemed sad and serious. Looked wrong on her; made for laughing, that one."

"She tended bar for you?" Sam asked incredulously.

"Hell, no. She was the bouncer." Patch took a puff on his cigar, exhaling a dense cloud of smoke. "Great at it. Could talk her way out of nearly anything but when she needed to get physical it was always fast and efficient. I'd have kept her on but she got some news and headed back to the States. Kinda glad to see where she ended up." His expression grew just a little wistful. "Hawkeye...he's good to her?"

"Very," Captain America answered.

"He love her?"

"More than life," said Thor, his voice soft and gentle. "And that half as much as she loves him."

Patch shifted a little and puffed on his cigar, his eye thoughtful and remote.

*****

"Before we finally begin-without any further interruptions--" the auctioneer glared at the Bartons, both still heaving with muffled laughter"--I must restate the instructions and conditions for delivery of the merchandise to the winning bidder. The funds will be transferred immediately upon conclusion of the bidding. Once verified, the items will be transported from here immediately to a neutral site by Madripoorian security forces. Once at the neutral site the buyers will take formal possession; that will end Madripoor's assistance or concern in the matter. Please indicate your agreement on your tablets."

Hands moved, boxes were checked and at least two parties got up and were escorted out.

*****

"You heard that?" Patch said to Black Widow.

"Yes. Does it mean what I think it means?"

"Yeah."

"Cryptic bullshit aside, " said Iron Man, "you want to explain that to us mortals?"

"There aren't many places within a few hours of Madripoor that can be called neutral Tony. Pretty much just one." Black Widow looked at Captain America significantly who nodded.

"There are a couple of ways we can do this, let me lay it out," said Steve, then looked at Patch. "You wanna step out?"

"No," the man in white said, looking a little surprised as he did. "I'm in. I can't be seen, but that's not a problem."

"Good," said Captain America. "We can use you. Turn that off, Tony, We need to plan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (2) Documented in "Intemperate and Savage, the Hawk Remembers" on this site.


	3. Chapter 3

Within the first half hour of the auction, the bidding hit forty seven million, then started to creep slowly upwards in drips and drabs. Bobbi and Clint could keep track of the amount on one of the big virtual screens hanging around the room. They were both trying very hard to look unconcerned but it grew increasingly difficult as the bidders dropped off one by one. By the time it hit fifty million, there were only four left: Latveria, the Abin Dhai emissary and the Japanese and Chinese contingents.

Crossfire had dropped out early and angrily. Bobbi kept catching glimpses of him as he wandered around the periphery of the room, talking to other small players. Most had dropped out of the bidding but were sticking around for the circus. As the auction slowed, the sense of anticipation rose. 

Mockingbird couldn't tell if they were expecting the Avengers to come crashing through the wall or she and Hawkeye to stage some spectacular escape attempt. It would probably disappoint everyone if they knew the only things she was feeling right now were fear and pain and that Hawkeye would be the same way. It had been four days of little sleep, less food, constant stress, physical abuse, bound hand and foot. Four hopeless, horrified days. Probably the only thing keeping both of them sane was the other person...and the bone-deep knowledge of what they were and why they could not falter until the last moment, until their hearts stopped beating and maybe a breath beyond.

They were Avengers. Avengers do not give up.

At sixty million, the auctioneer called a short break. From the top tier of the centre section, the Latverian woman called out: "Give them some water, at least, my good man." After looking up at the mirrored windows of the private box, Hardcase picked up a squeeze bottle of water and walked over to Hawkeye, He studied his ex-colleague for a few seconds, then cut the gag off of him with a switchblade.

Then he wiped spit out of his eye and shook his head. "Shoulda expected that. You get that one free, Barton." He looked over at Bobbi. "You do it and I'll break _his_ arm, copy?" He took her snarl for agreement. After a few mouthfuls, he turned to Mockingbird and cut away the leather strap.

She spit on Battleaxe instead. Hawkeye nearly dislocated his shoulders laughing. 

Hardcase left the gags off when the auction re-started, despite some unsubtle gestures from the auctioneer. Hawkeye and Mockingbird were relatively well behaved, only murmuring softly to one another, gentle nonsensical sentences that sounded like pillow-talk. A few times Longbow and Lifeline, the smart ones, threw side long glances at them but kept silent.

Bobbi wasn't worried. She, Natasha and Clint had long ago modified the old SHIELD word codes, though they couldn't get Steve to agree to use the dirty ones. Tony loved those ones the best, of course. 

Buried in endearments, they had the following conversation:

 _If Latveria wins, we go with them._ \-- Hawkeye

 _Yes. As publicly as possible. Doom will not execute us...out right._ \--Mockingbird

 _The Japanese. The Hand?_ \-- Hawkeye

 _I desperately hope not but...yes. I think so. If they win, we fight. I'm not giving them another chance at the inside of my head. Or yours._ \-- Mockingbird

 _The Chinese?_ \-- Hawkeye

 _Unknown. Which scares the shit out of me._ \-- Mockingbird

 _You'd be safe in the Dhai harem._ \-- Hawkeye, tentative.

 _You wouldn't be. And neither would I after I castrated the Sheik._ \-- Mockingbird, fierce. 

And then another player entered the bidding. 

"Seventy five million is the new bid from--the Consortium?" the auctioneer said in a confused voice. 

"That will do as a name, yes," called a woman's voice from the side gallery, cool and smooth with a light New York accent.

Bobbi and Clint both cranked their heads around. That had been Madam Masque, the blank golden surface of her facial covering revealing nothing. But next to her was Crossfire, smirking at them both, his one remaining eye filled with hatred. Viper sat next to Masque, her face neutral and her eyes hooded. Baron Zemo was just behind them, talking softly to a man neither of them could see properly.

"Fuck," Hawkeye exclaimed. "That looks like..."

"Yeah. Of course that asshole shows up to this," Mockingbird hissed. "Your family _suuuucccckkkkksssss_ , sport."

"You shoulda let me kill him."

"Yeah, I shoulda. Sorry about that. Won't happen again."

Hawkeye looked at his wife with love in his eyes. "You were made for me, little bird."

She smiled at him sweetly and they spent the rest of the auction just looking at one another. They knew how it was going to turn out now; it seemed almost fate. The auction would go to the group of people who, to the last villain, wanted the Bartons to die screaming.

In the end, Latveria dropped out at eighty three million, visibly annoyed. The Hand and the other two had fallen away in the seventies.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for your time and your interest in this auction. The winner is the Consortium, consisting of--"

"Thank you, we know who we are. We would like our merchandise, please."

"Why so eager, Masque? Don't you still have to play 'Rock, Paper, Scissors, Lizard, Spock' over who gets to pull the trigger?" Mockingbird called in a flippant tone.

Crossfire came out of his seat and onto the stage before anyone could stop him. His hand twitched and a blade appeared. "That will be after I take at least one eye each, bitch," he hissed, leaning into her.

"Untie me, asswipe and I'll jam that knife up your--"

Hardcase grabbed Crossfire and half threw him off the stage. Dressard appeared from behind the auctioneer, dismissing the other man sharply. "Sir, if you cannot control yourself, you will be removed from the country. Once the full amount has been transferred to the required account, we will transfer the merchandise to your group at the appointed location. Until then, they are still under our protection."

The man they couldn't quite see took off, a bulky shadow disappearing out the back door. That left Masque, clearly in charge, to gesture Crossfire back into line behind her. Zemo touched his shoulder and they spoke in a few sharp sentences, then Crossfire subsided. He was nearly twitching with adrenaline but he was quiet. Masque and Viper coolly took care of the financial transaction. There was a pause and a collective sigh.

Two Avengers had been sold on the auction block and no one had come to their rescue. Dragoness landed on the stage, looking frankly disappointed. Hardcase looked worried, as though he knew there was a trap somewhere but he couldn't see it. 

Hawkeye and Mockingbird just put their heads down, seeming defeated, deflated. 

Dressard, his eyes faintly confused, gestured at the Harriers. "Remove them to the staging area. Madams, M'sieus, if you would follow me, we will be transporting you to the site separately. Remember, until we have formally relinquished control, they are still our merchandise. No harm will come to them on Madripoor territory."

When they unchained Hawkeye, he just stood there. "Can we...can we walk together? Please? I promise no trouble." he asked Hardcase humbly.

The Harrier leader and Dressard both looked up at the private box again, then at each other. "Yeah, sure. I guess. Hobbles stay on though," Hardcase muttered, discomfited.

"Sure. Makes sense," Mockingbird said in a small voice. When they unchained her, she limped over to Hawkeye and he folded her into his chest again. They both looked sad but serene. 

"As we have lived, then, sport?" Bobbi's voice quivered, on the edge of tears and the whole room, filled with hard bad people, became still and ashamed.

"Yeah. Together, little bird. Always." His deep voice was slow and calm, and he was smiling a little.  
She looked up at him adoringly, her strong features soft with love.

At least five people in the room started crying.

With dignity the half-naked heros walked from the room surrounded by what was nearly an honor guard of armed thugs.

They sat quietly in the garage where they were taken, then equally quietly in the back of the windowless armored van. Bobbi all but climbed into Clint's lap, his lips in her hair, hers on his neck. They seemed incased in a hard bubble of peaceful resignation, barely noticing the cold (it was pelting with rain), the remaining bonds, the feeble attempts at cruel humor from some of the thugs. Gradually, the mood around them melted and faded from vicious triumph to something like sympathy and remorse.

When they spoke, it was politely, no more jokes or taunts. Bobbi thanked Dressard for his assistance as they were being handed out of the van at the docks. Hawkeye told Longbow she was looking good and gave a gentle critique of her new grip. Then they were escorted onto a powerful speedboat and whisked out into the choppy black surf of the Indian Ocean at night.

Out on the water, they were hauled from their speedboat onto a floating platform, set with work lights; a square barge that had obviously been towed there for this express purpose. The Consortium, all heavily armed and back up with muscle, were waiting. Crossfire was pacing at the back, the red targeting laser of his artificial eye flashing and flaring off individual rain drops. 

Bobbi turned to Clint as they were being escorted to the centre of the space, perhaps fifty by fifty feet. "You're better with distance than I am...how far are we from the island?"

Clint looked back at the lights still visible in the distance, his eyes going vague as he calculated speed and direction for the ride over. 

Ignoring them, Dressard came forward and held up his hand. Two Madripoor thugs unlocked the chains on the Avengers. Both of them were raw and bloody where the metal had been but they both stood straighter when they were free.

"As per the agreement, Madripoor is relinquishing custody of the package to you. We will no longer be responsible for its safety. Or yours." He stepped back to the edge of the barge and made to get onto the boat again. 

Instantly, Hawkeye and Mockingbird were surrounded and went back to back, hands up in fighting stances. Perhaps not so resigned after all. The wind made a thin _whooshing_ noise and picked up, brushing Bobbi's tangled hair into her face. 

Crossfire pulled his knife again, his face alive with evil delight. Viper, cold and professional, checked the breach of her gun and raised it, clearly aiming for Hawkeye's leg. Masque had her gun out, trained on Mockingbird. And Zemo drew his sword, advancing in a fencing stance. 

"We're fourteen miles out, little bird," Hawkeye remarked casually, studying the enemies ranged against him.

"International waters," Mockingbird said. "No political ramifications."

"To your deaths?" Masque said with a laugh. "Not at all." 

"Or to a rescue," Bobbi answered calmly, then dove forward. Hawkeye did the same.

Falcon came out of the darkness at terminal velocity, dropping with his wings folded till the last second. His flight suit flared, dragging him up to split the air where his friends had been. He spun in midflight to slam his feet into Crossfire's chest, knocking him right off the barge, then soared back up, the _whooshing_ noise of his flight engines fading for a moment.

The water on all four sides of the barge exploded upwards. Dripping wet and shedding SCUBA gear, Captain America, Black Widow and Bruce Banner stood in all their brightly colored, really really pissed off glory. At the fourth side, Iron Man--in submersible mode--hovered on his repulsers.

"Welcome to the Jungle!" Tony yelled. In the distance, there was an answering cry of "Hi-Yoh". Thor was on his way in. 

Bruce threw his facemask at Viper and dropped his shoulders. His eyes glowed green and suddenly the barge was tipping in his direction, spilling thugs and villains towards the Hulk's broad embrace. 

Zemo spun from his horrified look at Captain America's stern, snarling visage to charge at the former captives, intent on skewering Hawkeye before he could be taken down. Clint popped to his feet and parried the sword thrust with his bare hand, slapping the side of the blade with his open palm. Laughing gaily, he danced around Zemo, one hand tucked behind his back, avoiding and deflecting the razor sharp edge with nary a scratch.

Mockingbird was methodically kicking thugs off the edge of the barge, working her way around to Madam Masque, who had instantly tried to retreat to her speed boat, abandoning her allies without a pause. Black Widow was hand-to-hand with Viper until Falcon swooped down again and the green-haired woman joined Crossfire in the ocean. 

Captain America leapt over the heads of the still standing thugs to grab Zemo by the neck and sword arm, spinning to hurl him like a discus out into open water. Just as Masque got to her boat, Iron Man zipped in front of her and folded his arms, dropping like a stone right through hull. In seconds, it was foundering and then sunk. Tony reappeared from the other side of the barge just as Thor landed with an almighty thud in the centre the remaining thugs. The Hulk roared, bodies hit the water. Madam Masque threw her hands into the air as Mockingbird, looking astonishingly menacing despite being drenched with rain and seawater and in her underwear, advanced upon her.

"I surrender! I surrender!" Masque yelled. Thor flung the last of the thugs into the drink as all the Avengers gathered around Mockingbird. On the same side of the barge, Dressard and his guards sat quietly in their boat, watching the scene with interest. 

Hawkeye walked up and wrapped one arm around his wife. "Well, that was entertaining, hey little bird?" He looked at all his friends. "Your timing is impeccable, as always, guys."

Steve set his shield onto his arm. "A well executed plan is a wonderful thing." Then they all looked at Masque, almost cowering in the rain. Hulk made a rumbling noise in his throat and cracked a knuckle ominously.

"What to do with you?" Black Widow said slowly. "I believe you've committed a large number of international crimes in the last few hours but the only government that could prosecute you would be Madripoor itself."

Mockingbird gestured to Dressard. "Would your...master...intervene in that at all?"

"You are not within Madripoor's jurisdiction, Madame. Your actions are of no concern of ours. I'm sure my master will not be taking time from his schedule--"

"His?" Mockingbird interrupted sharply. "I thought Tyger...his? That _him_?" She and Black Widow exchanged angry "ah-ha!" looks.

"Ah, yes, Ms. Tyger and my master came to an...agreement last year. She acts as his loyal opposition but he rules the nation."

"You son of a bitch," she snapped, her face filled with death. "This whole thing was a set up, start to finish. You used us. Get the fuck out of here before I forget you were nice to us."

With a nod and a wave, Dressard took off. Bobbi watched him go, glowering, then turned back Masque. "You've got two choices here. Jump or the Hulk throws you; either way, you'd be better off with the sharks than me at the moment."

Madam Masque looked from her to Captain America, who simply inclined his head and nodded. With a sigh, she turned and leapt into the water.

Later, when they'd brought the quinjet up and Iron Man had sunk the barge, Bobbi explained. She and Clint were warm, dry and dressed in the clothes Black Widow had packed which meant Steve was finally comfortable looking directly at either of them. 

"I thought the Ruler of Madripoor was still Tyger Tiger. She fights for poor on the island; I thought we'd fallen into her lap and she'd taken advantage of it to raise cash. But if she isn't in charge and a man is? There's only two guys I would place as being able to run that show and one of them--"

"Let me guess, wears an eye patch and smokes a cigar?" Tony called from the cockpit. 

"Yeah. And he wouldn't do this. Not to us. He'd never risk the innocent lives."

Hawkeye looked up from where he was sitting, with the transformed Bruce stitching up a big cut on his left shoulder. "Yeah, towards the end there I was taking comfort in the idea that at least you guys might level the damn place after we were dead."

Thor shook his head. "It would have been the least of my actions, my friend."

Black Widow shrugged. "It's over now...and yes, I did get your luggage off the plane. That's a very nice seashell diorama you made, Hawkeye. You spelled 'vacation' wrong though."

They all laughed. Steve smiled benignly at his little family, then grew sober. "So, who was the driving force behind all of this? I like to know who my enemies are."

Black Widow and Mockingbird exchanged a look.

"I never heard his name," Bobbi said slowly. "But he's got some connection to Patch...."

*****

Dressard stepped off the boat at the docks and sent his guards away. When they were quite gone, he walked over to a little pool of darkness in the doorway of a warehouse. In the shadow, a lean man with visible tattoos on his bare arms stood quietly. A sense of menace and barely checked violence wreathed him.

"It is done, sir. They're free and uninjured but the woman...she figured it out. And she blurted it out in front of Masque. If she and her allies make it out of the water, they will be...upset." Dressard looked sick to his stomach, nearly shying away from the other man.

"That's unfortunate. Make sure the Harriers and Dragoness know. You can go." The tattooed man's voice was even and impartial, with the hint of a Japanese accent.

Dressard walked away, hunching his coat up against the rain.

In the alley next to the pool of shadow, a match flared and went out. "Dangerous game you played there, kid." 

The man in the white suit joined the tattooed man in the doorway, his fragrant cigar smoke beaten down by the rain. The light was very dim but his eyes were good enough to make out the details of the younger man's form: shaved mohawk hair style, strong, wirey muscles. Amber skin and a sharp nose: mixed race, Caucasian and Asian. High cheekbones and a pugnacious jaw.

Very like his own. 

"Eh, we needed the money and I had faith in your precious heros. You played your part, pops. Like I knew you would. Thanks ever so much." The younger man with the tattoos threw Patch a mocking salute and went inside the warehouse. A few moments later, Patch heard a motorcycle start up and speed away, headed back to the palace. 

If the other man had looked back, he would have seen a single dark eye filled with exasperation, reluctant concern and something like desperate, hopeless love. 

"You are such an asshole, kid." Patch muttered to no one, then sighed. "Like father, like son."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thinking about doing "When Hawkeye met Mockingbird" next.
> 
> Any requests?
> 
> Might be a bit, I have some other commitments on the go, and my apologies for the delay on this piece.


End file.
